


I'm Sorry

by Glen_Coco



Series: Song Series [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Depression, Gen, Suicide, Unreliable Narrator, also posted on Tumblr, check it out on tumblr pls and validate me, its sad so if you like that, not beta'd but edited, self deprecation, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19059760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glen_Coco/pseuds/Glen_Coco
Summary: A knock at the door. “Hey Ramirez.” It was Virgil, and Roman could hear the playful smirk in his voice. “The planning session’s starting. We kinda need you down there.”Roman pulled his lips into a wide smile. “Of course! Just finishing up.”Virgil’s footsteps echoed as he went down the hall and Roman slumped in his seat, smile dripping off. This was it. Showtime.





	I'm Sorry

“No, no, no…” Roman muttered, biting the tip of his pen as the sun set outside his bedroom window. He ran one hand through his chocolate curls, taking the pen out of his mouth and putting it to the blank paper, trying to think of something, anything else for the others to review. Being a group youtube channel was tough, especially when Roman was the one who was in charge of the video ideas. All four of them had their roles. Logan actualized them; Virgil managed the budget; and Patton edited while Roman made the ideas as well as the script. But there was nothing in Roman’s head right now, or yesterday, or last week or month or months.  
He had a single stack of papers, each one dedicated to a new idea, with a video title and a small blurb describing how the video would go. Roman only used one piece of paper for an idea so that way it would be easier to sort which ones would be rejected and which ones might succeed. He felt a bit guilty about wasting paper, but it helped streamline the process.  
A knock at the door. “Hey Ramirez.” It was Virgil, and Roman could hear the playful smirk in his voice. “The planning session’s starting. We kinda need you down there.”  
Roman pulled his lips into a wide smile. “Of course! Just finishing up.”  
Virgil’s footsteps echoed as he went down the hall and Roman slumped in his seat, smile dripping off. This was it. Showtime.  
Roman gathered his paper stack, tucking it beneath his chin so it didn’t spill, and carefully made his way out of his bedroom, his Haitian and Mexican flags fluttering as the door slammed shut.  
Logan adjusted his glasses as Roman set the stack down on the coffee table. He was as impassive as ever, his curly hair flattened out and gelled back as though he was going to a parent-teacher conference. Roman smiled at all three of them, and Patton waved back giddily.  
“Hey kiddo! You must have been busy!”  
Roman did his best at a lofty tone. “Well, I hope I have something to show for it, padre.”  
“Indeed. Alright,” Logan said as he partitioned the stack into three separate, smaller stacks. “Virgil will take this pile, I’ll take this one, and here’s Patton’s. Thank you for your work, Roman.”  
“It’s what I do, Professor Pocket-Watch.” 

“Building a Historically Accurate Castle in our House… no, of course not Roman. This would take too much time and resources. Where would Virgil amass the funds anyway?” Logan tossed it aside dismissively, into the championing stack of failure. Roman’s fingers twitched.  
“We already made a video about poetry, Roman. Do you want the fans to get bored?” Virgil shook his head and let the paper fall to the floor at his feet. Roman watched the two from the couch, following the paper as it drifted through the air and landed silently on the carpet. Forgotten.  
Patton smiled at Roman encouragingly, but Roman could see the pity that drove it in Patton’s eyes. “Well, I like this one! Who doesn’t want to go horse-riding?”  
“Money,” Virgil and Logan said simultaneously, not even looking at Patton.  
“Also, where would we find a horse in time, much less four?” Logan pointed out. Roman stopped himself from rubbing his hands over his face and instead smiled at Patton. Patton returned it, albeit sadly. The paper joined the rejects.  
By the time all three had finished, it was eleven o’clock. They had started at six.  
All four of them were rubbing his eyes, Logan’s hair mussed. Patton yawned. “That was a lot of crap,” Virgil grumbled, and Roman bit his lip.  
Logan straightened the accepted pile. It had twelve papers, six from Patton, four from Virgil, and two from Logan. The rejects were everywhere; on the floor where Virgil had dropped them, in the stacks Logan had made, on the chair next to Patton.  
“I shall review these tomorrow,” Logan said, holding the accepted ideas in one hand.  
“Great,” Virgil mumbled. “Who’s gonna clean up?”  
“I’ll do that!” Patton said, still perky though tired.  
“No, I’ll do that,” Roman said quietly, mask slipping just a little.  
“Alright. In the meantime, we should go to bed. Don’t stay up too late, Roman. I have told you about the importance of sleep schedules,” Logan said as Virgil waved goodnight and went down the hall.  
“Yes, yes yes, Cicada rhythm, yes I remember.”  
“Circadian,” Logan corrected. “In the future, Roman, please try to not have such frivolous ideas. As a whole, these were too fanciful for reality, entirely unrealistic.” Logan criticized, criticized, criticized.  
Roman’s defensive anger sparked inside him and then died immediately, leaving the cold reality that Logan was right. Roman smiled as genuinely as he could, joking. “Almost like I don’t belong in this world, right Logan?”  
Logan frowned at him, brow furrowed. “Is this going to turn into a joke about how you are ‘out of this world?’”  
No, it wasn’t, but now it was. “Took the words right out of my mouth!”  
Logan sighed. “Alright. Goodnight, Roman, Patton.” Then Logan padded down the hall and into his room, leaving Patton and Roman alone.  
Patton smiled, fiddling with one of his dreads. “How are you Roman?” he asked gently.  
Roman returned it, trying to be as realistic as possible. “Well, I’m quite tired, if I’m being honest.”  
Patton sat next to him, the cushion dipping beneath him. “That wasn’t what I meant.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, we just spent-” he checked his wristwatch, what a dad, “- about five hours rejecting almost all of your ideas. I mean, that couldn’t have felt good.”  
Roman’s smile slipped, damn it! “Well, it certainly wasn’t reaffirming padre,” he tried, chuckling a bit. “But I’ll be fine.”  
“You sure?”  
“Would I lie to the sweetest puffball I’ve got?”  
Patton smiled, that same sickeningly pitying smile. “Alright. You sure you don’t want help cleaning up?”  
“Yeah, I’ve got it. Thanks Pat.”  
“Sure thing.” And then Patton was gone, and Roman was alone.  
Roman sighed, breathing in, closing his eyes, ignoring the pressure building in his throat. Not here, he thought. Not now.  
He got up and walked around the room, collecting the papers. Sometimes his eye caught on the titles, the blurbs, the pictures he had absentmindedly scribbled in the margins. He collected the ones he wrote especially for his friends, and the ones that he had just wanted, until eventually they were all in his arms, the stack still up to his chin, just twelve short, out of reams of paper, out of reams of paper and sleepless nights - weeks -  
Roman collapsed against his door as he closed it behind him, back in his bedroom. The papers slipped from his arms and fell at his feet.  
He leaned his head against the door, breathing heavily, like razor blades in his lungs, eyes stinging and burning. He bit on his lip and sobbed through it, hands covering his face. _Damn it,_ he thought.  
“Damn it,” he whispered. He hated this. He hated feeling this. Anger was raging in his stomach as shame and humiliation pressed down on his ribcage, disappointment lodged in his throat, choking, choking, choking him. He was a loud, ugly crier. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to cry until he was asleep. He wanted to be hugged.  
Roman whined and walked over to his bed, climbing on it and punching the mattress over and over. Jab jab cross, jab cross jab. He slammed his hands down, open palmed, eyes screwed up as he fell onto his pillow, hugging it to his body. He ached everywhere. He couldn’t even breathe right, damn it!  
Eventually the tears petered out. Roman sat up, hesitantly, biting his lip. His desk was right across the room. Now that he was done with his temper tantrum, he thought, he should get back to writing, doing something worthwhile.  
Roman trudged back to the desk and sat down, picking up his trusty black pen. He began again.

It was harder to start, this time. Like last time, and the time before that, it just kept getting harder. Everytime he set pen to paper the wrong thing filled up his head - not ideas that the others would find useful, but his own, self-centered, narcissistic thoughts.  
He scribbled a picture of the genie from Aladdin in the margins, imagining Logan’s eyes as he flicked over his paper, him ‘thanking him’ for his work, the way he so callously tossed aside all but two of his ideas. He really didn’t know just how much of Roman he held in his hands every time, did he?  
How to Tell Someone You Aren’t Feeling Good, Roman wrote as the title, thinking of all of them. The blurb he wrote was almost autobiographical, he thought wryly.  
He could almost imagine what Logan would say to that one, he thought as he put it as the first in a fresh, new stack.  
The second was tangential to the first. What To Do When They Don’t Notice. That one could be to Virgil, Roman thought.  
The third was just a page full of smiles, taken from Roman’s memory of Patton.  
The fourth was nothing. Roman ended up throwing it at the ground with as much force as he could muster, restraining himself from kicking the wall.  
The longer he wrote, the more his thought spiraled. Self-centered thoughts, arrogant Prince Roman Ramirez at it once again.  
Worthless.  
Flawed.  
Not good enough.  
Never good enough.  
Rejected, humiliated, laughed at, useless, pathetic, vain, egocentric, dramatic, a tantrum thrower, conceited, foolish -  
DAMN IT! Roman threw his pen against the wall and it rebounded and fell into the trashcan by his desk. Roman put his head in his hands and cried, for the second time that night. Logan was right, Roman thought. He really didn’t belong in this reality.  
Roman’s hand fiddled with the locked left drawer of his desk. No, he thought. Not today.  
Logan was right, as usual. Roman should go to bed.  
He put his pen back on his desk and went back to his bed, still torn up from his fit, and collapsed on top of it, finally letting the exhaustion weigh him down into the mattress. He hadn’t slept in weeks.  
In his sleep, Roman cried.

Breakfast was served by Patton, as always. Roman joined them late, rubbing his eyes tiredly. As usual, Logan had made coffee, so Roman poured himself a large cup and chugged it.  
“Woah there sleepy head! Have a good night?” Patton began to pile a fourth plate full of eggs and pancakes.  
Roman put on a smile. “The best! I had a dream that an evil dragon witch was besieging a citadel, and I rode in on a white stallion and slayed her with my own Excalibur!” Roman said with as much energy as he could muster.  
“I had a dream Aragog ate me for breakfast,” Virgil muttered, taking a sip from his coffee as Patton shuddered. Roman sat next to him with his plate, fork playing with his eggs. Roman wasn’t that hungry.  
Patton sat back down and slurped up another pancake. “I dreamed that we were living in this castle, and then Edgar Allen Poe came in and started cawing, and then Logan burst in on a unicorn!”  
“All of your dreams are the stuff of fantasies,” Logan muttered. Roman glared at him.  
The four all exchanged quips and stories, Roman acting with the best of them, Logan even commenting at a few points. Eventually though, the topic shifted back to the video.  
“I believe that ‘Reviewing the Best Villains of All Time,’ is the so-called winner here. It is manageable, not to mention literary. We can still talk about Disney villains, Roman, close your mouth, but I will be damned if I don’t get to talk about about how Frankenstein is the true antagonist of Mary Shelley’s novel.”  
Roman rolled his eyes. What a nerd. He was right, but still.  
“Great. I call Gothel. Fucking hate that bitch,” Virgil said.  
“Hmmm, I want to talk about the Evil Queen. How could she do that to Snow White?” exclaimed Patton.  
“Alright, as long as I get to talk about Gaston. He is such a narcissist!”  
“Remind you of anyone Princey?” Virgil smirked over his coffee. Roman smiled emptily back at him and tried to think of a retort.  
“Not as much as your face reminds me of Donkey,” he settled on. “You know, from Shrek.”  
Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “Not your best.”  
_Not your best._ Roman rolled his eyes and ignored the stinging of his heart, clenching his jaw. “When do you need the script?” he asked Logan, giving up his rapport with Virgil.  
“As soon as possible will be preferable. Last night I finished research on several villains, though you can always supplement it with your own if you determine that my findings are not comprehensive.”  
“Damn Logan, did you even sleep?” Roman asked, taking the notebook filled with Logan’s meticulous groundwork.  
“Since the video is already off to a late start, I decided that research was the priority.”  
Roman read between the lines of what Logan was saying and understood it was a jab at him. After all, it was Roman who had held up the schedule.  
“Then I should start writing now,” Roman sighed, leaving the room with coffee in one hand and the notebook in another.  
“Satisfactory. And Roman,” Logan called after him. “Do take a shower. You’re beginning to stink.”

One shower later, Roman was sat back at his desk, “Friend Like Me” playing in the background, and he began again.  
It was harder to start this time. Roman’s fingers sat idly on the keyboard, thumb stroking the space bar. Come on, Roman, think of a nice quip to start things off, he told himself.  
_Mister Aladdin sir,_  
What will your pleasure be?  
Let me take your order  
Jot it down  
You ain't never had a friend like me!  
Robin Williams’ zestful tones filled the air with levity that Roman didn’t feel. He bit his lip, and pulled out a fresh piece of paper.  
How We Make Videos, he wrote as the title, and put a small blurb beneath it. Just something to get him started, to get his creativity going before returning to the script.  
The second video idea he wrote down was An Honest Conversation About Mental Health.

Two hours later, and Roman finally remembered that he had a script to write. He looked back at the laptop, the screen dark, and the familiar feeling of failure welled inside him. Damn it! He let himself get distracted again. He was so stupid, lazy, inconsiderate - this is why they all hated him!  
He slammed his fist on the table and bit his lip, rocking in his chair. Come on, Roman. He just had to do this for them. He just had to write one damn script, it’s so easy, a toddler could do it.  
Roman sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “I am so… useless,” he whispered.  
But that gave him an idea, one he could work with. And with that idea, Roman started the script.

Roman stood in the living room, dressed in a Gaston costume Logan had scrounged up with the money Virgil allocated. The camera and lights were all set up around him, and Roman wore his trademark cocky smirk for the video’s opening.  
“Okay, so I’m villainous, arrogant, muscular and egotistical. Who am I?”  
Virgil recited his line off-screen. “Roman.”

The video had been uploaded last night. Roman, allowing himself the smallest of rests, finally went to bed and woke up to the others all in chipper moods, albeit showing differently. Patton was humming and dancing around the kitchen, serving up blueberry waffles and nutella. Logan was reading quietly at the table, sipping his coffee, hair in its natural curly state. Virgil sat atop the counter, legs swinging as he listened to his headphones, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate.  
Patton immediately smiled upon seeing him. “Hey Roman! Waffles are ready.” He gestured to the plate on the table.  
Roman smiled. “Thanks Pat.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, taking some waffles with him.  
The four of them ate in contented silence, Roman managing to eat one waffle and finish a mug of coffee. When Roman got up to get himself another cup, Logan spoke.  
“It will please all of you to know that the video has been received positively,” he said without lowering his book. “It is quite heartening. However, to avoid a last minute scramble like last time, I suggest we begin preparations for the new video immediately.”  
“Jeez L, ever heard of work hard play hard?” said Virgil.  
“I think we should do something to celebrate. What if we go out and hit the town?” Patton suggested.  
Roman sipped his coffee.  
“We are not teenagers anymore, Patton. We are past the age of ‘hitting the town.’”  
“Well we could still have fun. What if we went to Remy’s place and had a few drinks. They even have karaoke, and I know Roman’ll love that!”  
“That’s true, I do love karaoke.”  
Virgil frowned. “I don’t know about that. Remy’s place is always a bit too crowded for me.”  
Patton nodded. “Well, what if we go there at seven? It’s not very busy then! And afterwards, we could go someplace else.”  
“Bar hop, you mean?” Logan asked.  
“Yeah! That’s it!”  
Logan lowered his book and looked at Patton. Finally he sighed. “Alright,” he relented. “We will go out. But first I would like to get a start on this new video. Roman, do you think you could do that?”  
“Of course.”  
“Excellent.”  
And as the rest of them all talked about their plans, Roman slipped back into his bedroom.

Patton was right, the comments on the video had been positive. They had found most of the jokes pretty funny, which wasn’t good enough for Roman, but who was he to critique the audience?  
At least all of the jokes at Roman they had found funny. Several comments were time-stamped to a throwaway comment about Roman’s narcissism by one of the others. One comment by virgil’s hoodie was really stuck in his mind.

> lmao i love how theyre finally calling roman out on his bullshit. its about time someone told that jackass to shut up

He had it memorized. Everytime he thought over the words his hands itched to the locked left drawer of his desk.  
Stop being a drama queen, Roman told himself. Just do your fucking work, jackass.  
Roman began again, listening to “Prince Ali.” It was even harder this time to think of fresh ideas.

> virgil, to roman: you’re villainous, arrogant and egotistical  
>  me: *sips tea*

Damn it! “Stop thinking about it and work, asshole,” Roman whispered. He picked up his pen, biting the tip. He set it to the fresh piece of paper, and started.

A knock at the door. It was four o’clock, the next day. Roman hadn’t slept.  
Outside of his window, the sun was on the end of its journey in the sky.  
“Hey Roman, you ready?” Virgil asked.  
Roman put on his smile, hoping it bled into his voice. “When am I not? Let me just get my things and I’ll be out in a moment!”  
Virgil grunted and walked away. Roman dropped his smile and his pen, gathered his papers. Not as many as last time, unfortunately. The stack only went to his collarbone. At this rate of uselessness, Roman might as well stop breathing.  
The others were gathered in the hall, all dressed nicely. After this, they were going to go out to Remy’s bar and have a few drinks.  
“Why aren’t you dressed?” Patton asked as Virgil sat on the sofa.  
“I’ll get ready after this,” Roman told him, winking. He set the stack down.  
“Good. Thank you Roman.” Logan once again parceled it into three stacks. He gave one to Patton and one to Virgil and kept the last one for himself. “Let’s do this quickly. You should get ready while we sort, Roman.”  
Roman smiled, and he could feel something was wrong with it. Too cold, it didn’t reach his eyes. Too forced. “Oh no, I think I’ll stay and here what you guys think about my ideas.”  
Logan shrugged. “If you wish.” He picked up the first sheet on his stack and read it to himself. Roman steeled himself in preparation for the criticism. “Roman, once again your ideas are too extravagant. You know we couldn’t do this.” So why waste our time, was what Roman understood to be the end of the sentence.  
Logan put the paper on the table, the first of the rejects. And soon, it would grow, Roman thought, jaw clenching.

6:30, Patton had finished his stack. Patton had not rejected only two. That was four less than last time. Damn it!  
Virgil and Logan had given Patton some of their stack, and now there was only a couple papers left in each of their hands.  
“Really Roman? This sucks,” Virgil said, waving a piece of paper at him. He had a smirk that was supposed to be joking, Roman assumed. “Are you losing your mojo or something?”  
Roman laughed callously. Virgil narrowed his eyes at him, almost concerned. Roman quickly covered. “1% of my mojo is better than 100% of yours,” he retorted, leaning back in the armchair.  
Virgil gave him a deadpan look and went back to his stack.  
Wordlessly, another reject went into the pile, placed there by Patton. Roman’s foot tapped the ground, blinking his eyes furiously.  
Logan narrowed his eyes. “An Honest Conversation About Mental Health,” he read, then shook his head. “No, this will simply not do, Roman. As much as I like more serious topics, this is does not suit our target demographic. Besides, this will require Virgil and Patton being quite vulnerable, and they did not consent.”  
“Well who said Virgil and Patton have to do all the talking, hmm?” Roman snapped.  
“I, personally, do not struggle with mental health, and neither do you Roman. Unless you would like to fabricate a reality in which you do,” Logan said.  
“What do you know about me?” Roman got up, stepping towards Logan. “What do you know about any of us? It seems all you know, Mr. Robot, is how to shoot people down!”  
Logan reeled back slightly and straightened his glasses, eyes going cold. He wasn’t intimidated by Roman’s 6’4” glory towering over him. “I have multiple degrees, Roman. You didn’t even go to college. You foolishly tried to pursue acting, and, like nearly everyone else, you failed at it.”  
“Okay guys, let’s-”  
“No, Patton! Let’s let Logan finally say what’s on his mind! After all, he’s been so reserved with his criticism before!” Roman snarled. “I mean,” he said, picking up the mound of rejection, “he’s clearly been holding back!” Roman dropped the papers at Logan’s feet.  
“You are once again behaving like an overgrown child, Roman. It is not my fault that your ideas are too preposterous for real life. It’s as if you live in a fantasy land!”  
“Well excuse me for daring to dream! Of course, you wouldn’t no anything about that, would you? You don’t know anything about dreams, or love, or anything that can’t be found in books!”  
“Woah.” Virgil stepped between them. “Let’s just calm down. Sure, Princey’s ideas can be a bit ridiculous -”  
“A bit? Those are kind words, coming from someone who’s called them ‘stupid’ and ‘crap!’ I churn out page after page of ideas only to be dismissed by all of you!”  
Virgil flinched back. “Okay, Roman, you do know that-”  
“No! I’m tired of listening to you tell me exactly what is wrong with me!” Roman stomped around them until he was standing with his back to the hallway, glaring at them all and wiping his eyes. All of his inhibited rage came rushing to the surface like a tidal wave to a beach. “I try so hard only to give you all worthless, useless, garbage ideas that you just toss away without a second thought! Well I’m sorry!” His voice broke as he picked up a reject and waved it around. “I’m sorry for wasting all of your time with my pointless ideas, with my egotistic, self-centered thoughts! Maybe I should just quit!”  
Logan was frowning. “Roman, are you alright?”  
Roman crumpled the paper and tossed it at the table with all the strength he could raise. “Don’t give me that fake sympathy!” He ran his hands through his hair, fingers snagging on the curl.  
“Roman, what’s wrong? Talk to us,” Patton pleaded, eyes wide and genuine and full of pity. It was sickening.  
“Leave me alone!” Roman screamed, stomping his foot. He could just imagine what they will say about him now.  
“Alright, I do not engage in tantrum throwers,” Logan said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Roman, we will pick up this conversation later when you are of a more reasonable temperament.”  
Roman scoffed, dropping his hands and turning around. Patton called after him.  
“Ramirez!” Virgil yelled. Roman didn’t turn around, just went into his room and slammed the door as hard as he could, jumping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow as loud as possible His fists bounced against the mattress as he hit it as hard as he could, this rage burning in the fibers of his muscles. He only stopped when there was a voice outside his door, quiet and low.  
“Alright, so me, Patton, and Logan are still going to go to Remy’s. Feel free to join us if you want, but we wanted to give you some time to calm down. When we get back we could talk about it, if you want.” A sound, like Virgil was resting his hand or head against the door.  
“... We’ll see you when you get back.”  
Footsteps retreated down the hall. Muffled conversation in the living room, then the front door opening and closing.  
Roman was alone.  
He rose from his place on his bed, tears dripping onto his pillow, blankets a mess. Roman looked to the door, regret choking him.  
“DAMN IT!”  
And he put his face in his hands and cried, until his throat was hoarse and he had nothing else to cry.  
Well, at the very least Roman could try to make it up to the others for being such a dickish manchild to them. He went back over to his desk and sat down, lips resting on his pen. He tried to think of an idea, of anything, but all that played in his mind was the hurt Logan hid in his face and Virgil’s flinch and Patton’s teary eyes.  
They were right, Roman thought. Everything they said was true. He was worthless, useless, _inferior._  
The barbs of the word sunk deep into his heart.  
Roman took a deep breath. Maybe, writing his feelings would help.  
So Roman began again, and this time it wasn’t difficult at all.

Roman had finished an entire page, front and back, when the pen began to stop working. “Shit,” he whispered, tears beginning to sting. He scribbled on the top of the page, trying to get the ink to go. “Fu- there.” The ink came, but it was faint and dying. It was time for Roman to stop writing.  
It was time for Roman to stop, he realized.  
For once, Roman didn’t resist his impulse. He pulled open his right drawer and took out a small silver key, slid it into the lock on the left drawer and twisted. He reached inside of it and let his hand touch the smooth, cold metal of its contents.  
With the last ink in his pen, Roman finished his letter as best as he could.  
_Look, just know it’s a new day, but if you’re reading this then it’s probably too late._  
He sighed, wiping his cheeks clear of tears as his eyes scanning the page once more, before letting the pen finally rest on his desk. Like everything else, it wasn’t good enough. He crumpled the letter with one hand, his other wrapped around the cool of the gun, then closed his eyes and pressed the barrell to his head. Two fingers rested on the trigger.  
**BANG!**

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading! I also have an idea for a part two in mind. This story was inspired by "I'm Sorry" by Joyner Lucas and "Perfectionism Killed the Prince" by ilovereadingandilovebreathing on tumblr. Check them out!  
> This was also posted on tumblr. My account is leavesonthefine. Please go on there and give me a like and reblog!  
> Tell me if I forgot to tag anything :) Comments much appreciated.


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